Chapter Text
You wake up in an empty bed.
You’re not surprised by this. Bro hardly ever sleeps in, even after nights like the one the two of you just had. There’s a glass of water on your nightstand and you almost smirk, thinking that’s something pretty considerate and gay for Bro to do— but the five dollar bill next to it makes you glare instead.
You’re worth way more than five bucks.
Maybe you should start charging him for your services.
You smell food, more specifically, you smell waffles, which means that English is there. You climb out of bed and throw on a pair of shorts and a shirt, groaning from the soreness in your back thanks to Bro believing that you’re some type of fucking human pretzel.
When you feel you’re presentable enough to parade around your house, you drag yourself out of your bedroom and into the living room where you spot Bro and English making out on the sofa. They don’t seem to notice you, so you watch them for a few seconds. Bro is straddling English’s lap, his arms draped over English’s shoulders and kneading into his back. You hear English moan and watch as he reaches up, grips the back of Bro’s hair, yanks his head back and latches onto his neck, all Dracula-like, making Bro hiss and grind down against him.
You hold back a groan and force yourself to walk past them, jumping slightly and whipping your head around when you feel someone pinch your ass. You don’t know who to accuse because they’re still making out as if it never happened.
Assholes.
Yawning, you step into the kitchen and your eyes widen. There, sitting at the table, wearing his dumb Ghostbuster’s shirt and drinking a glass of milk like a giant baby is no other than John motherfucking Egbert.
You try to step back out before he spots you.
Too late.
“Hey, Dave,” John says after he’s put the glass of milk down. “You’re finally awake.”
“I thought you said you’d call first,” you blurt out. It takes every bit of your willpower not to reach up and cover the hickeys that you know are littered all over your neck.
“I did,” John says. “Dirk answered your phone and said you were sleeping and for me to just catch a ride with Jake since he was coming over here anyway.”
“Oh.”
That’s not much of a response, but you have other questions you need to ask. Important questions. Questions that will gauge whether or not John knows you spent last night getting fucked by your brother.
Okay, no.
You need to calm down.
Deep breaths.
You walk over to the refrigerator and grab out a small bottle of apple juice. A few sips of ice cold aj will calm your nerves. It’ll help you think straight— yes, yes, ironic. You don’t have time for irony right now.
You have an interview to conduct.
How long have you been here?” You ask, trying your best to sound as casual as possible. You open your bottle of apple juice and take a sip, hoping to enhance the false sense of apathy you have going on.
“Uh, not very,” John says. “About twenty minutes or something. When I first got here, your Bro handed me a cup of water and asked me to put it in your room.”
You’ve never in your life choked on apple juice, but you suppose it’s a first time for everything.
“Jesus, Dave!” John jumps up from his chair and rushes over to pat you on the back as you sputter and spit apple juice out onto the table.
It takes a second for you to breathe normally and without coughing, but you manage to not die from choking on your favorite drink.
“Are you okay?” John asks and you attempt to brush your choking episode off.
“I’m good,” you say and you snatch up a few paper towels and wipe up the mess you made. “Be right back. Shower.”
You leave the kitchen, resisting the urge not to run out of there and into your bedroom. You need to make sure Bro didn’t purposefully leave any clues out for John to find. Bro and English are still making out in the living room and you decide you’ll go straight to the source for your information.
You walk up behind Bro and raise your hand, you’re prepared to yank a fistful of his spiky hair clean off his scalp for trying to sabotage what you have going on with John.
Wait. What do you have going on with John?
You’ll figure it out later.
Bro jerks away before you even get the chance to grip his hair and grabs you by your wrist. You let out a startled cry as you’re yanked onto the couch, wedged between Bro and English, your feet sticking up and out and hanging over the arm of the sofa.
“Can I help you with something?” Bro asks.
“Get the fuck off,” you growl and attempt to pull yourself up.
“Right now?” Bro asks. “You sure you want John seeing that?” He places his hand on your chest and his fingers begin to explore, walking down your abs and tugging at the hem of your shirt.
“Bro, stop,” you plead and try harder to get up. “Help me out, English.”
“Dirk,” English says, like he’s scolding a child. “Quit your tomfoolery and leave Dave alone.”
“Make me,” Bro says, but English doesn’t reply. He just stares at Bro and winks at him and the next thing you know, you’re being shoved back to the floor and English and Bro are up and making their way into Bro’s room.
Fucking assholes.
You get back to your room and look around. There doesn’t seem to be anything lying out and about. No lube or anything like that, so you’re pretty much safe. You snatch the sheets off the bed and do a quick, half ass, job of putting some new ones on it before finding something to wear for the rest of the day.
When you step out into the hallway, you almost end up crashing into John who apparently had been on his way to your room. You reach blindly behind you for your doorknob and shut your door.
Time to act natural.
You don’t even know what that is anymore.
“You sure you’re okay?” John asks.
“Calm yourself, Egbert. I’m not an infant.”
“No, you just choked and spit apple juice all over the table like one.”
“And I let you watch it free of charge. You should be thanking me.”
“You’re such a loser, Dave,” John says and he walks forward, which wouldn’t have been a big deal, except forward means that he walks into you.
“Dude,” you say, as your back presses against your bedroom door. John leans forward and you panic and turn your head to the side— the side with all the hickeys not given to you by him.
God fucking damn it.
Judging by the way he sucks on your neck, John doesn’t seem to notice them.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with him? Are his eyes really that bad?
You gasp when he tilts his head up and bites down gently on your ear. “Dude,” you breathe out again. “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”
“Yeah,” John murmurs against your ear. “I can kind of tell,” he says and chuckles as his nails graze your sides, tickling your skin and causing you to moan and lean against him. You want to continue, want to know exactly where things will lead if the two of you keep this up.
But you really need to take that shower.
A moan comes from Bro’s room and it distracts John long enough for you to gently shove him away. “Shower, dude,” you say and he rolls his eyes before opening up your bedroom door and stepping inside.
A few quick steps get you into the bathroom and you’re smart enough to lock the door once you’re inside. You undress, ignoring the way your heart races when you think about the fact that John is in your room and that the two of you are probably going to…
Yeah.
You probably shouldn’t think about that right now.
It may lead you to doing more in the shower than you had previously planned.
You groan quietly, allowing the rush of water to spray over you. Grabbing your washcloth, you lather it up with soap and try to think about anything other than John. You reach down, scrubbing at your inner thigh and frown.
The hickey there certainly helps keep your mind off of John for the moment.
How would you even begin to explain something like that?
You sigh and continue washing up. There’s nothing you can do about it, so it’s pointless to dwell. Hopefully, John won’t bother to ask about it, or even better, he won’t notice it.
Not noticing your hickeys seems to be something that he’s exceptionally good at.
You finish your shower and quickly dress yourself, making sure to brush your teeth and hoping that you won’t seem as anxious to John as you do to yourself. You toss your clothes into the dirty clothes hamper even though they aren’t dirty and then you take a deep breath.
You’re ready.
You step out of the bathroom just in time to see English and Bro heading down the hall.
“‘Sup?” You say to English when he stops in front of you and grins.
“We’re off to an adventure,” English says. “And by gum, if I can be so bold to say, it looks like you’re off to one as well.” He nods his head over at your bedroom door where you can see John lying on your bed staring up at the ceiling. “Hey, fun, young Strider,” he says before winking at you and continuing down the hall.
Bro stares at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Listen, Dave,” he begins, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I know what you and Egbert are going to do the moment we leave, but there’s something you should probably know about him.”
You don’t know where the sudden irritation comes from, but it’s there, bubbling up inside of you.
You’re starting to think that it’s been there all along.
“You know what, save it, Bro,” you say, your words angrily whispered out. “You’ve been trying to fuck this up since the beginning. I don’t know why you hate the idea of me and John so much. You get Jake, you get me, what the fuck do I get? Am I supposed to forever be a third wheel to the two of you or what?”
Bro’s face is back to being void of emotion. “See ya’ later,” he says before walking off, not bothering to argue with you. You discover that you honestly don’t give a shit.
You wait in the hallway until you hear the front door shut.
Now it’s just you and John.
Finally.
You step back into your room and find John still lying on your bed. He looks up at you and smirks before rolling onto his stomach. “Did you remember to brush your teeth?”
You stick your middle finger up at him and he laughs.
“So…” you begin, and clear your throat. “What do you want to do?”
John shrugs. “Whatever you want to do.”
“We could watch t.v.,” you suggest even though television is the furthest thing from your mind. You walk over to the bed and sit down next to the t.v. remote. “I think there’s a stupid horror movie marathon—” Your words are cut off when John leans forward and kisses you.
“Or we could do this instead” John says against your lips.
“Might be a better idea,” you murmur and kiss him again.
Somehow kissing leads to your shirt being pulled up and off, tossed onto the floor next to your bed, You wish he’d come over later in the day, when you could turn the lights out and hide all of your hickeys, wish you’d had woken up and snatched your phone from Bro’s hand. But you can’t travel through time.
Not like you can in your dreams.
John leans against you, the weight of his body forcing you to lower yourself against the bed. He continues to kiss you, his lips warm and wet as they press gently against yours. You gasp when you feel his fingers gliding against your hips, tugging at your jeans, silently asking you if it’s okay if he pulls them down.
Your response is to wedge your hands between the two of your bodies and unbutton them.
He breaks apart the kiss, but he keeps his eyes on you, watching you as your boxers and jeans slip down your hips, thighs, legs, inch by inch, until you’re fully revealing yourself to him, your cock hard and desperate for attention.
John kisses you again, but it’s merely a peck before he continues south, kissing a straight line down your chest and your abs before veering off to your thigh.
You hold your breath, silently playing out the scenario for when he moves on to the other thigh and sees the hickey. What will you say? Will you lie? Tell the truth?
Would he even believe you?
He sucks on your inner thigh, making your breath hitch and your fingers tangle in his hair before abandoning it altogether, opting to slide his glasses off instead. You reach over, blindly extending out your arm and feeling around until your hand bumps against the nightstand where you set them safely on top of just as he switches over to your other thigh.
He pauses then, the seconds feeling like hours before he leans down and nips at your thigh, sucking hard enough to make you cry out and buck your hips.
He doesn’t say anything, no light-hearted or taunting jokes before he slides his mouth around your cock and sucks, moaning and humming around the tip, his blue eyes twinkling as he looks up at you.
He swallows more of you cock, going further and further and it feels so good and familiar, like when English does it.
You silently curse yourself.
English should be the last person on your mind right now.
You can feel yourself blushing, so you cover your face and moan into your cupped hands and hope that they aren’t as loud as you think they are.
John pulls his mouth off your cock and licks down the underside instead, and you groan, you hands once again finding their place in his hair where they pull and tug, hips bucking gently, eyes closed, letting your body experience the sensations without your vision processing every detail.
You can’t help but gasp when his tongue dips lower. Your fingers tighten in his hair.
Okay, maybe that was an accident.
You’ll keep your eyes closed to spare each other the embarrassment.
Except it happens again.
And again.
“Fuck, John,” you moan, as he grips you by the back of either of your thighs and spreads your legs wide apart. His tongue slides in and out of you, dragging up and flicking, lapping greedily even when your legs attempt to squeeze shut.
“Dave,” he says, chuckling, his fingers digging into the back of either of your thighs as he spreads them wide again. “Stop doing that,” he murmurs before flicking his tongue again.
“Fuck,” you whimper.
It’s pretty much all you can do at this point.
When John wraps his hand around your cock and begins to pump, long even strokes combined with his tongue sliding in and out of you, you have to yank hard on his hair to get him to stop and to keep from cumming.
“S-Shit,” you stammer, your legs quivering and your breaths sharp and uneven.
“You okay?” John teases you and you’re too busy trying to calm your breathing to glare at him, so you point over at the nightstand and hope he gets the message.
He does.
Of course he chuckles at your inability to properly voice your demands, but he still reaches over to grab the lube out of your nightstand, pulling too hard on the drawer just as he opens it and cringing when the entire drawer falls out and onto the floor.
“Oops.”
“Real smooth,” you say as you wait for him to lean down and grab the lube off the floor. When he does, you snatch it from his hands and stare up at him. “Lose the clothes, Egbert.”
John makes it his mission to strip off his clothes as slowly as possible, making you growl with impatience before you’re reaching up to yank them off of him yourself. When he’s completely naked, just like you, you open the bottle of lube, pour some into your palm and massage it into his cock. You’d planned to suck him off, to show him just how talented you are at that specific aspect, but you’re too turned on now, too fed up with imagining how it’ll feel to have him rock hard inside of you.
“Fuck, come on,” you whisper, and you grab him by the arm and pull him down, spreading your legs so that he can easily slide between them.
“Come on what?” John says and he grabs the back of your thighs like before and raises your legs into the air and begins to slowly slide inside of you. “Your stomach? Your chest? Your face?”
You cry out when he pulls back and snaps his hips forward, but you have no fucking clue whether it’s from him finally being inside of you or from what he just said.
You can’t let him upstage you.
“Fuck you,” you breathe out. “In my mouth.”
“Mmm, fuck, Dave,” John moans as he thrusts his hips, grinding his cock inside of you, his hands still on your thighs, nails gently scratching at your skin.
You raise your legs even more, using your stomach muscles to help lift them high enough to rest them against John’s shoulders. John slams into you then, making you both cry out, your hands grabbing and pulling at the sheets, quickly messing up the bed that you half made up in the first place.
The banter between the two of you stops and the only sounds that fill your room are heavy breathing and your moans, louder than the constant squeak of your bedsprings. You whimper John’s name when he reaches down and grasps your cock, his fumbling strokes not quite syncing up with his thrusts for a moment until he finally gets it right.
“God, Dave,” he moans and kisses you, the weight of his body heavy against you. The one arm he uses to balance himself slips slightly and he falls forward, his cock shoving as deep as it will go inside of you, the pleasure and hint of lingering pain from the night before is enough to make you tense and and cry out against his lips, your hips rocking, fucking him and his hand until you cum, toes curling and calf muscles like heated rocks pressed against his shoulders.
“Fuck,” John growls then, his hand sliding from beside your head to the edge of the bed where it grips the mattress. The other hand joins the first, smearing your cum in a trail along the sheets and he uses the rim of the bed as leverage to rock into you, making you scream, your body sensitive, shuddering below him until he’s cursing and cumming as well, hips slamming into you almost violently while he moans tiny, broken, versions of your name and kisses every part of you that his lips can reach.
The two of you stay that way, trying your best to calm your breathing until you realize that your breathing will never calm because he still has you practically doubled over.
“Get off,” you groan and you use your legs to nudge him over and over, repeatedly until he groans and flops onto his back.
“Wow,” he says.
“Yeah,” you agree, before adding, “I’m seriously starting to doubt that you aren’t a homosexual, John.”
“I’m not a homosexual,” John says. “I’m not an anything because I don’t like labels.”
“Fair enough,” you mutter.
You lie in silence, listening to John’s breathing and waiting for him to say something else. After ten minutes, you decide that you’ve waited long enough, but when you attempt a conversation with him, you realize that he’s fallen asleep.
“Egbert, you shit,” you mumble before leaning over to stare down at him. You can’t stop yourself from smirking as you lean down, prepared to kiss him while he’s sleeping, but then you spot it, fresh and bright and red, embedded into his shoulder like a tattoo and you wonder how you didn’t notice it before.
Teeth marks.
John has teeth marks on his shoulder and you know for a fucking fact that youdidn’t give them to him.
You end up lying in bed next to John for three hours, watching the rise and fall of his chest and asking yourself questions that you don’t have the answer to. You try not to be jealous. You have sex with Bro and English, or at least you used to.
You’re not sure if that’ll be happening anymore after snapping at Bro the way you did.
Speaking of Bro and English, you heard them both come back from their adventure nearly an hour and a half ago, but neither of them said anything to you. Of course, you’ve been lying in bed confused about your entire life, so you suppose that could be a reason why.
You think back to the conversation you had with Bro out in the hallways. Bro had been trying to tell you something about John.
You wish you would have listened.
But maybe, if you grovel enough, he’ll still tell you.
Fuck.
You slide out of your bed and quietly pull your pants back on before sneaking out of your bedroom and into Bro’s.
You don’t bother knocking.
Bro and English are lying in his bed, sleeping much like John is back in your own bedroom. You take a deep breath before walking over to Bro where you lean down and nudge him. “Bro, wake up.”
“You’re stupid if you think I’d be asleep in the first place with you stomping in here like a god damned elephant. What do you want, Dave?”
You sigh before answering. No point in beating around the bush.
“What were you trying to tell me earlier?” You ask.
“Not important.”
“Bro, come on, please.” You hate to beg him, but you need to know. Is this just another one of those cases where everyone has someone, a main someone, except you? “I saw…” You bite your lip nervously. “I saw teeth marks on John’s shoulder, so I was just wondering did you know… I mean…” You bite your lip, nervously. “Was it you?”
Bro groans and shifts onto his side, staring up at your with sleepy eyes. “No,” he says groggily before burying his face back against the pillow.
“Then who was it?” You say, completely confused as to who would have spent long enough time with John to leave those serious teeth marks on his shoulder. He’s barely been home for two days and both those days he’s been with you. Of course, you can’t account for those times where he he hasn’t been.
Fuck.
You just need to know.
“Who was it, Bro?”
English turns over, eyes barely open, hair wild and sticking up in various directions. He rests his head on Bro’s side and yawns.
“It was me.”
And you can do nothing but stare at him, a tsunami of realization flooding your mind and drowning your thoughts. John and English are cousins. Cousins who have startling similar techniques when it comes to making you moan. And now you’re realizing that you never once questioned why English wasn’t uncomfortable with the fact that you and Bro have sex with or without him.
Because he does the same thing with John.
And Bro had been trying to explain that to you before you snapped at him.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Words cannot describe how turned on you are right now.